Broken Things to Mend
by musicprincess1990
Summary: When Ron cheats on Hermione, she turns to Harry for comfort, but ends up getting much more. Awful summary, but that's really all there is to it. Story is much better. Rating for safety. WARNING: Do not read if you are strongly against Ron-bashing!
1. Driving

_A/N: I love random inspiration! This hit me while I was reading, and I just decided to try writing it down. We'll see where it goes!_

_Disclaimer: Guess who owns Harry Potter? I'll give you a hint—it's not me._

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When she found out, she didn't even pause to think—something highly unusual for her—she just _drove_. Well, first she screamed at her now ex-fiancé for a good thirty minutes, packed everything she could fit into two battered suitcases, and tossed the sparkling diamond ring to the ground. _Then _she drove.

Hours passed, the sky turned from blue to black, and stars dotted the wide expanse of darkness as she put more and more miles behind her. She silently thanked the remarkable witch or wizard who had discovered the never-ending gas tank charm, which was being put to good use right now. Though she had no idea where she was going, she felt satisfied with the knowledge that she was gone.

No thoughts of remorse or "How dare he?" traveled through her mind. In fact, she didn't feel the least bit sad. In a way, she was relieved. She'd seen this coming from the day he'd danced with that little tramp at his brother's wedding. From that point on, they started to grow apart, bit by bit, until finally, it came out; he'd slept with the blonde bimbo.

Her hands clenched around the steering wheel at the thought. Just because she wasn't sad didn't mean she wasn't angry. She didn't understand what could possibly motivate him to cheat on the woman he'd not only dated for seven months, but who had been one of his best friends for nearly a decade.

And the prat didn't even bat an eyelash when she confronted him; he owned up to it, stony-faced and unrepentant.

She felt sick to her stomach just thinking about it. What killed her the most was that he didn't even care that he'd ruined a wonderful friendship. Though she couldn't say that he was the only one at fault. Though they'd been living together ever since he'd proposed, she'd stubbornly refused to put out. But was it really so horrible that she wanted to wait until they were actually married to have sex? No, it wasn't. So, she should have just followed her instincts when he'd asked her to move in. But she was so bloody afraid of breaking his heart and ruining everything, that she'd said yes.

And now she was paying for it.

Now not only had she lost her fiancé, she'd lost her best friend.

Well, one of them.

And then, suddenly, she knew where she was going. She made a sharp U-turn and headed back to London. It would likely be morning before she got there, but she didn't care. All she cared about at that moment was reaching her destination.

Just as she'd predicted, the sun was beginning to peek over its place behind the horizon when she parked in front of the house. 127 Elm Street.* It was a quaint house, just outside London, barely out of its boundaries. The windows were still dark, unsurprisingly; she hadn't expected him to be awake at this time. _She _was rarely awake at this time, and that was saying something.

For a moment, she wondered if she'd made a mistake coming here, if it really was a good idea. Perhaps she should wait until a more reasonable hour. But her exhaustion convinced her otherwise; if she got back in that car, she wouldn't last longer than ten minutes before falling asleep at the wheel. She left her bags in the car for the time being, not entirely sure if she would be staying here long. Not even sure why she was here in the first place.

She walked slowly up the path to the front door, and lifted a hand to knock. She hesitated again, battling with herself. It really was too early to be making a visit. But she needed to speak with him. Though he didn't exactly give the most stellar advice (that was her forte), he always knew just what to say to make her feel better.

So she knocked, the hollow drumming of the wood seeming to echo through her mind and pierce her soul.

Minutes passed, and there was no response from the other side of the door. She let out a sigh; perhaps she _would _come back at a later hour. Probably for the best.

However, just as she started to turn, intent on going back to the car, she heard a click as someone unlocked the door, and then it opened. Hermione gave a tense smile as a man with messy black hair, tired green eyes, and a shadow of scruff on his jaw and upper lip. Those eyes widened with surprise as he took in the young woman standing on his porch.

"Hermione?" he asked in a groggy voice.

She bit her lip. "Morning, Harry."

_

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A/N: Yes, it's short, but there's more coming, and soon! Well . . . the first part was true, but I can't promise the latter. Fortunately, this week won't be anywhere near as busy as the last few have been, so I'll probably have some actual time to write! Huzzah! I'll try to update sometime in the next couple of days. In the meantime, I hope you liked this little opening._

_*I just kinda picked a random address here. For all I know, this place doesn't exist. If it does, believe me, I had no idea. I've never been to London. Heck, I've never even been to Europe! The closest I've gotten is Manhattan. Which is an awesome place, by the way. But it's not London. Anyways, now that I'm done making absolutely NO sense whatsoever, I'll let you just leave a review. C'mon, you know you want to! ;D_


	2. Room and Board

_A/N: Wow, got that up faster than I thought I would! :D Here's chapter two!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Obviously._

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"Morning, Harry."

It was a stupid thing to say, really, but it was the only thing she could think of. After all, it was barely six in the morning, she'd been driving aimlessly for about fifteen hours, and she was on the doorstep of a man she hadn't seen in months, due to her fiancé's ridiculous jealousy. _Ex_-fiancé, she reminded herself.

"What . . ." Harry began, attempting to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "What are you doing here? Is everything okay?"

She looked down. "Not exactly," she mumbled. "Er . . . Ron and I broke up."

"Oh, Hermione," he sighed, his tone of voice quiet and consoling. She looked up at him to see sympathy shining in his eyes. For some reason, that was what pushed her over the edge. With a great sob, she flung her arms around him, clinging to him like a lost child, and soaking his shirt with her tears. He hugged her back without pause, gently shushing her and whispering words of comfort. Just these small actions made a world of difference.

"I'm sorry to surprise you like this," she said as her tears subsided, "but . . . I was just driving around, and then I started thinking about how I'd lost a friend as well as my fiancé, and then I thought about you, and I just wanted to see—"

"There's no need to apologize," he cut her off, his voice laced both with kindness and amusement; she knew the latter was due to her rambling. "You know you can always come here, anytime."

She heaved a sigh, smiling at him. "Thank you, Harry. You have no idea."

"Ah, don't mention it," he grinned.

Hermione nodded, then her previous guilt crept back in. "Well, sorry to have woken you," she said, and started backing away, heading in the direction of her car. "I'll let you get back to sleep now, I'm sure you have a busy day today—"

"Whoa, where do you think you're going?"

She frowned. "Er . . . I was thinking of checking into a hotel somewhere. My parents are out of town, but they should be back in a couple of—"

"Bollocks."

"No, really, they're due back on Saturday, sometime in the aftern—"

"You're not checking into a hotel, Hermione," he said reproachfully. "Why spend your hard-earned money on staying in some bleak, unsanitary hotel room when you've got a perfect place to stay right here?"

"But—"

"No buts," he interrupted her once again. "You're staying with me."

"I can't do that," she insisted.

"Sure you can. And you will. It's settled. No more arguing."

She sighed. "Harry—"

"You're staying here, Hermione."

"For the love of Merlin, will you stop interrupting me?" she half-shouted. "All I was going to say was . . . thanks," she added in a softer tone.

He smiled. "You're welcome. Now, get inside. Did you bring anything with you?"

"There are a couple of suitcases in the trunk," she remembered, and started back down the path. "I'll go get them."

Suddenly, she felt a hand close around her elbow. "The only thing you're going to do is go inside and get some sleep," he said. "You look a hell of a lot more tired than I am, and definitely more emotionally spent." She opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off yet again. "I insist. Give me your keys, I'll get your stuff, and you go _sleep_." She sighed again, but nodded. "Good. You know where the guest room is."

"I can't thank you enough, Harry," she said, hugging him once again. He returned her embrace, and she felt more than heard his gentle laughter. It wasn't mocking, just light-hearted, a way to make her feel more at ease. Strangely enough, it always worked. Just hearing his laugh made _her_ want to laugh. But right now, she was too tired to do much of anything.

"You're welcome," he assured her, pulling back to smile at her. "Now go to bed."

Hermione didn't need telling twice. She ran—sort of, it was more like a sleepy jog—up the stairs, walked down the hall, and opened the second door on the left. Having stayed in this guest room a few times before, she was familiar enough with her surroundings to know where everything was. The desk at the far end of the room, situated beneath a wide window, contained a laptop computer, and a few bottles of Muggle alcohol. Usually Scotch, as that was Harry's preference. A cabinet stood opposite the bed, the doors hiding a complex television set and DVD-player, plus a small selection of movies. And the door in the far right corner, just past the telly cabinet, led to the guest bathroom, which housed all the essentials, plus an extra toothbrush and probably a few magazines.

After brushing her teeth—she couldn't fall asleep unless her teeth were clean; it came from having two dentists as parents—Hermione took off her jacket and collapsed on the queen-sized bed, fully clothed in jeans and a tank top, not bothering to turn down the comforter and sheets. Within a matter of seconds, she had fallen into a (thankfully) dreamless sleep.

Harry's thoughts ran amok as he fetched Hermione's things from her car. Though the bags were fairly large, they weren't exceptionally heavy, which told him that she'd been in a hurry, and only thought to pack the essentials. He was near bursting with curiosity about the events that had lead to this sudden parting of the ways, but knew better than to ask about it right now. Hermione would need time to cool off, to sort out her thoughts and feelings, before she would be willing to open up. And he would be there for her when that happened.

As quietly as he could—he didn't know if she would be asleep already—Harry walked up the stairs, and knocked softly on her door. When there was no response, he very carefully cracked it open, hoping she wasn't undressing or anything.

Immediately, he was met with the sight of Hermione, sprawled across the bed, face half-buried into her pillow, her hair cascading around her like a bushy, brown waterfall. He smiled and gently placed the bags next to the desk, taking great care that he didn't wake her. Before he left the room, he stole another glance at the soundly sleeping form of his female best friend. She looked so peaceful—angelic, even—that one would never guess the turmoil that she was surely experiencing. His curiosity flared again, but he knew he would have to wait until she was ready. In the meantime, he would make her stay as enjoyable as possible. It was the least he could do.

Whispering a goodnight that fell on deaf ears, Harry shut the door softly behind him.

_

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A/N: It's still kind of short, but hey, it's something! This is one of my favorite things to write: that dynamic between two people where they're still on that very fine line between friendship and romantic love. And no, this is not a rebound fic. It's not about how they "accidentally" discover their feelings. This is a story about truth, and about moving on. Just putting that out there. I love, love, LOVE reviews! :D Please leave one before you go!_


	3. Food Fight

_Disclaimer: I currently own all six Harry Potter DVDs . . . but not the rights to those movies, or to the characters . . . or to anything actually involving them . . . just a couple of shiny disks that allow me to watch the movies over and over. Which I do. So there. That was supposed to sound more forceful. Meh. Anyways, enjoy!_

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Hermione awoke to the smell of blueberry muffins wafting up from the kitchen. She smiled to herself; of course Harry would remember how much she loved blueberry muffins. And she hadn't had one far too long. Ron wasn't fond of blueberry, so if she ever bought muffins or muffin mix, she would get raspberry or poppy seed. Neither of which ever compared to blueberry, in her opinion.

Thinking of Ron was starting to make her sick, and if she was sick, she wouldn't be able to eat the muffins, so she put an end to it, and made her way down the stairs.

"Morning," she greeted jovially as she entered the kitchen.

"Try again," Harry grinned.

She frowned, then glanced at the clock. "Merlin!" she whispered, eyes wide. Then she turned on Harry. "You let me sleep until one o'clock in the afternoon?"

He turned around, pointing a spatula at her. "Hey, I tried to wake you up earlier, and you _bit_ me."

"What? I most certainly did not!" Harry lifted his other hand, revealing an impressive mark just below his thumb. Hermione's face reddened. "Oh. Sorry."

"No big deal," he shrugged.

She sighed and lowered herself to one of the stools at the counter. "You're too nice to me, Harry. I don't deserve to be treated so well."

"Hold it right there," he said, his face suddenly stern. "I'm not going to let you get all self-deprecating, because that's not like the Hermione I know. You deserve to be treated like a queen, and one day, you'll find a man who is perfectly willing to do just that. Until then," he smiled softly, patting her hand, "I'm going to do my best to fill his shoes. To some extent, at least."

Hermione gave him a slightly tearful smile. "Thank you, Harry. You have no idea how much your friendship means to me. I truthfully don't know what I'd do without you."

He laughed quietly. "It's the very least I can do, after all the help you've given me over the years."

She stiffened slightly, as she always did when he mentioned her loyalty to him. It wasn't that she regretted any decisions she'd made—on the contrary, she stood by each and every one of them to this day—but one in particular left a painful stain on her heart even now. This was also the reason she'd hardly seen Harry in over four months. Well, indirectly. The real reason was a bit more complicated.

"Here you go, 'Mione," Harry said, bringing her out of her thoughts. He placed a full plate of food in the space in front of her, then fetched some silverware and a coffee mug. "Waffles, scrambled eggs with cheese and tomatoes, three strips of bacon, and blueberry muffins," he unnecessarily pointed out each food item. "All your favorites, cooked just the way you like them."

"Thank you," she beamed, and then eagerly dug into the steaming food.

"Easy, there," he laughed as she began inhaling the eggs. "You're going to make yourself sick."

She rolled her eyes, but swallowed before taking a more reasonably-sized bite. He grinned his satisfaction before turning to serve himself. Then, something occurred to her, and she frowned. "Shouldn't you be at the Ministry by now?"

"I called in just a few minutes after you'd fallen asleep," he explained as he seated himself beside her. "Took a personal day."

"Harry," she scolded, "I don't want you to miss work because of me."

He lifted an eyebrow. "Well, I think that as Assistant Head of the Auror Department, I can afford to take a few days off."

"A _few_?" she repeated incredulously. "You took a _few_ days off?"

"Today, tomorrow, and Saturday," he confirmed.

"Oh, Harry," she groaned in exasperation. "My heartbreak is not a valid excuse for you to fall behind at work. You need to be there, doing your job."

"My job," he stated firmly, "for the time being, is to be your friend. So right now, I _am_ doing my job." He lifted a hand as she opened her mouth. "And one more word from you on the subject, and I'll call back and take all of next week off, too!" Her mouth snapped shut immediately. "I thought so."

She rolled her eyes. "Manipulator," she grumbled.

"Worry wart," he shot back.

At that, Hermione tossed a small bit of muffin at him. It hit the side of his face, and left a small blue stain where the blueberry had touched his skin. Hermione snorted a laugh, biting her lip to reign it in somewhat. Harry licked his lips and blinked a few times before turning his head to glare comically at her. This made her laugh even harder. But she stopped as soon as she felt something hot and mushy being pressed into her hair, and realized he'd just sacrificed his own muffin for the sake of revenge.

"Harry James Potter!" she shrieked as he snickered.

"Who's laughing now?"

She scowled. "Oooh, you're gonna get it, Potter!" And with that, she threw what remained of her scrambled eggs at him. He responded by flicking a bite of syrup-drenched waffle at her. Within seconds, the two of them were having a full-on food fight, screaming and laughing like children. It briefly crossed Hermione's mind that she, as a grown woman, should not be engaging in such behavior. But really, she couldn't find a reason to care. She was having a blast with her best friend, and all the food would wash out of her hair. And clothes. And _his_ hair and clothes.

Things took a turn for the worse, however, as Harry reached into the refrigerator and pulled out a pitcher of water. Which was bound to be freezing, having been in the fridge. "No," Hermione warned, backing away from him. She didn't like the look of that menacing smirk on his face.

"What's the matter, 'Mione?" he asked in a taunting voice. "Afraid to get _wet_?"

As he said the last word, he flung the arm holding the pitcher forward, successfully drenching her in water. Unfortunately, he realized too late that she was wearing a white tank top, and _no bra_. For some unfathomable reason, Harry's mouth went dry, and his heart pounded erratically against his ribs. Just before Hermione had finished wiping the water from her eyes, he came to his senses and looked away. He had to force a grin, keeping the pretense that he was just playing a game. Thankfully, he was a pretty good actor.

"HARRY!" she screamed. He glanced up—looking pointedly at her face—to see that, though her face was red, she didn't seem to be angry. In fact, she looked mortified. He gave her an apologetic smile before removing his wand from his pocket and performing a quick drying spell. "Sorry," he said, but still grinned.

She rolled her eyes. "You can really be a pest sometimes."

He laughed and hugged her, trying desperately to ignore the soft curves he could feel even through the layers of clothing. "Ah, but you love it," he teased.

"Cheeky little blighter," she muttered.

Harry let out another quiet chuckle. "Want me to remake your breakfast?"

"That's okay," she shrugged. "I should probably shower, actually. Get this _muffin_ out of my hair."

"Oh, but you look good in muffin," he countered.

"Ha, ha," she laughed sarcastically, then disappeared up the stairs.

As soon as she was gone, Harry's face fell slack, and he gulped. What was going _on_ with him? Why had he felt that way when Hermione's shirt got wet? Yes, she was a woman, and of course she had curves, but . . . well, she was Hermione! His best friend! He wasn't supposed to be thinking those things about her! She'd only been single for . . . well, he didn't know exactly when it had happened, but it couldn't have been too long. It seemed like her wounds were still fresh. And she'd been engaged to his best mate, for Merlin's sake!

Although, he couldn't really call Ron his best mate anymore. Ever since they'd first started dating, Ron spent more time with Hermione and less time with him. Which, to be honest, was how it was supposed to be. But then Hermione gradually stopped spending as much time with him, too. That stung a little. Okay, a lot. But he never said a word to either of them, because he was afraid that it might open old wounds from the months they'd been holed up in that tent. It had never been confirmed, but Harry suspected that Ron was still a little bitter about Hermione's staying behind when he left. His words rang through Harry's mind: _You choose him_.

Of course, it turned out Hermione had chosen Ron in her heart, but her loyalty would not let her leave Harry alone. For that, he would be eternally grateful, but he also felt guilty. What if that was the reason for their troubles . . . whatever they were? He couldn't bear to think that his two best friends were in pain because of him. _Again_. It was bad enough the first time.

Harry sincerely hoped that these theories were incorrect.

_

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A/N: Yay for a slightly longer chapter! And yay for special moments, eh? ;) I had to throw that in, though I know there are probably several stories out there with the same or a very similar water/food fighting scene. I apologize to any of you who may feel ripped off, but I promise that any apparent copying is completely accidental._

_Anyways, please leave a review! I can't begin to express how much I LOVE getting those emails that say "Review Alert." They just make my day! :D Much love!_


	4. New Feelings?

_A/N: I'm sorry for the wait, but it's been a hectic week. Not that you care, or want to hear about it. _I _certainly wouldn't. Anyways, here's the fourth installment._

_Disclaimer: As always, I own nothing._

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Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as she inspected her newly washed hair, finding it perfectly clean and muffin-free. However, she couldn't seem to get rid of that tinge of pink that still painted her cheeks. She'd forgotten, until Harry had doused her with ice-cold water, that in the course of the day, she'd removed a certain undergarment, so as to make the sweltering heat from the July afternoon a bit more bearable. Then, as it got colder at night, she just hadn't bothered to put it pack on.

And then, of course, he had to do _that_.

Now, Hermione had never viewed physical appearance as a major priority. She didn't track the latest trends, didn't buy the lacy lingerie, never cared enough to buy that adorable blouse. No, her priorities were family, friends, work, and _then_ clothes. And her attire consisted mostly of fitted T-shirts, jeans, and a few pantsuits for work.

But admittedly, she'd always been a bit self-conscious about her _body_. Though she'd never thought it important enough to do anything about it, she couldn't help but feel inferior compared to the more voluptuous forms of Cho Chang, Ginny Weasley, and the Patil twins. Hermione was slender in the right places, but then lacked the curves in others that made up for it. She was practically a straight line up and down, with small hips, skinny legs, and a chest that resembled a two-by-four. And her skin was a blinding, pasty white.

It didn't make any sense to her, though. She'd never been a particularly healthy eater; her parents did restrict the amount of sweets she ate, but they never really banned them. Her exercise routine consisted of the effort it took to walk down the stairs to get her coffee, and then back up as she got ready for work. Yet somehow, she was still as skinny as a string bean. And she knew it wasn't attractive.

Thus, she was mortified to know that Harry had seen, to some extent, the absolute shapelessness of her figure.

Not that she believed Harry would think any less of her for it. Harry was one of the few men in the world who judged on personality, rather than appearance. Hence, the reason they had been best friends since they were eleven years old. Neither of them had been particularly attractive upon that first meeting. She was the skinny, buck-toothed know-it-all, and he was the scrawny, messy-haired, bespectacled boy.

Now, she was no longer buck-toothed, though still quite thin, and just as much of a know-it-all as ever. Harry, on the other hand, had filled out considerably from his years playing Quidditch, and had found a vision-correction spell that allowed him to dispose of the glasses (though, Hermione had to admit, she missed them). And his hair actually suited him now. Or maybe she'd just gotten used to it, along with the rest of the world. Either way, he looked good now. And Hermione was still . . . well, she was still _Hermione_.

Plain, boring, nagging, book-obsessed Hermione.

Why should she care what Harry thought of her, though? It wasn't as if he was a prospective boyfriend. He was her best friend. They'd been through everything together. Their opinions of each other could never worsen. Or could they? The very thought made Hermione cringe, despite the fact that she knew it was ridiculous. It didn't change her feelings, though. And what exactly _were_ her feelings? She had always had a small crush on Harry, but she didn't think it would ever go past being that: a crush. Besides, he thought she was all heartbroken over Ron, didn't he? Well, she'd just have to prove him wrong.

"Hermione?" a familiar voice called from the door to the bedroom.

"Yes?" she shouted back.

"Are you decent?"

Hermione glanced briefly down at her current ensemble: a towel. "Er, no."

"Erm . . . well, whenever you're ready, I have somewhere I'd like to take you. Unless you already had plans."

She grinned. "No, no plans so far. I'll be there in a bit."

He didn't say anything else, so she started to get ready. _Hmm,_ she thought. _How do I convince my best friend I'm not pining for my ex? Of course! Dress like I'm looking for a date!_ Hermione didn't have much in the way of date-worthy clothes, but she pulled out everything she had, ready to make some alterations if necessary. In the end, she chose a yellow sundress—a gift from Ginny—lengthened the skirt a bit, and put it with a white shrug. After that, she dried her hair, and did her best to soften the bushy curls into gentle waves. She'd never really bothered to wear makeup, except on special occasions and holidays, but today, she dabbed on a little mascara and clear lip gloss.

Finally, she pulled on a pair of simple, white sandals, and headed downstairs.

Harry sighed, wondering what was taking Hermione so long. She never took this long to get ready. Usually, she just threw on whatever clothes she touched first—which, they all sort of matched, so it worked—did nothing with her hair, and was ready in ten minutes. According to his watch (yes, he'd been counting, so what?), she had already taken nearly twenty-five minutes. He was starting to get paranoid. Maybe she had fallen and hurt herself? He decided he'd go upstairs and check. _It couldn't hurt_, he thought.

No sooner had he put his foot on the bottom stair, than he heard the opening and closing of her door. He looked up . . . and his breath caught.

_Merlin_.

She looked absolutely stunning—dressed fairly casual, but still beautiful.

Harry took a moment to take in her appearance, starting at her feet. The sandals were simple and comfortable-looking, but they accentuated her ankles and calves in a way that left his mouth watering. The flowing sundress stopped at her knees, and she'd added a white shrug to it, which was tied into a knot just below her bust line, accenting _that_, as well. Her hair, now almost waist-length, rippled down her back in rich, caramel waves, untouched by elastic or any other hair adornment. And . . . was that makeup she was wearing?

Too late, he realized he'd been staring at her. He cleared his throat, attempting to hide the blush that, once again, burned his cheeks. "Erm . . . you look good," he mumbled, staring pointedly at his shoes. _Nice one, Potter. You're a real charmer._

He heard her giggle softly. "Thanks."

Bugger. She'd seen right through him, hadn't she? Well, he'd keep trying to distract himself from her until he knew she had. After a few moments, he'd regained some of his composure—enough to pretend his hormones _weren't_ going into overdrive—and smiled affably at her. "Ready to go?" he asked in a pleasant voice.

"Where are we going?"

He grinned. "Oh, you'll see. You're going to love it."

With that, he took her hand and led her outside. Hermione wasn't sure where he was taking her, but surprised herself by not caring. She trusted him not to put her in harm's way, and also trusted his assurance that she'd enjoy herself. After all, he'd never lied before.

Besides, she would be with Harry. That was enough.

* * *

_A/N: And the romance begins! Honestly, this isn't my best work. This is basically just a filler chapter, leading up to the juicy stuff, which will be coming up next. I haven't decided exactly _what_ said juicy stuff will be, but rest assured, it _will_ be juicy! Sheesh, how many times can I say the word "juicy" in a single paragraph? :P Ahem. Anywho, the next chapter will be up . . . soon-ish. Not sure exactly when. Loves! XOXO_


	5. Carnival

_Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

Hermione shook her head in disbelief at the scene before her. She was standing just a few yards away from the entrance to a _carnival_. Complete with Ferris wheel, cotton candy, and children trying to knock over plastic bottles.

It was incredible.

She turned to stare, open-mouthed, at Harry. "What . . ."

Harry grinned, and answered the question she was unable to actually ask. "I heard about this a few weeks ago, and it reminded me of a time when we were in the tent, and there was something on the radio about a carnival in London. You mentioned that you'd never actually been to a carnival. I told you that I had once, for Dudley's seventh birthday, but only because our neighbor, Mrs. Figg (_A/N: correct name?)_, wasn't able to look after me." His smile grew. "And then you said, 'Someday, we'll go to one together.'"

By now, Hermione was almost in tears. "I can't believe you remember that."

His face grew serious. "Of course I do. I remember everything."

Hermione wasn't sure what to make of that comment, but she suddenly found it very difficult to look away from those endless emerald eyes. She smiled at him, and then the two of them entered the carnival.

It was everything she'd dreamed it would be, and more. The cotton candy was a bit too sugary for her tastes, but nevertheless, it was fun just to try and eat it. At one point, Harry tried to take a bite out of the whole thing, and ended up with bits of pink fluff all around his mouth, like a fuzzy, pink goatee. There were many other treats available, too. Candied apples, popcorn, chocolate-covered frozen bananas, snow cones, and the standard ice cream favorites. Hermione wished she could try all of them, but there was only so much her stomach could take.

After that, they tried the games. Hermione's favorite was when you throw a ball at a target, and thereby dunk some poor, helpless individual into a tank full of water. It was a shock to everyone there that she, Hermione Granger, was the one to dunk the man making faces at the children.

And last, but not least, there were some rides. Hermione did better than she thought she would on the roller coaster. By the end, she was squealing out of fun, rather than fear, and even lifted her arms along with the others. She thoroughly enjoyed the tilt-a-whirl, and she and Harry proceeded to go on that ride about five times.

Then, came the Ferris wheel.

Hermione hadn't realized, when they first got there, just how _tall_ it was.

"Er . . . let's skip this one," she said, inching away.

"What? Absolutely not!" Harry frowned. "This is a carnival _classic_. You _have_ to go."

"But—"

"No buts, Mione," he insisted. "You are going on that Ferris wheel."

She lowered her head. "I'm afraid of heights."

He grinned. "That'll change as soon as you ride the Ferris wheel."

"That's ridiculous, Harry."

"Just give it a shot," he pleaded. "Please?" he added, jutting out his lower lip.

Hermione rolled her eyes, but could feel herself giving in. "Fine," she relented, "but if I end up not liking it, I'm holding it over your head for the next three years. And you owe me another frozen banana."

"Deal," he laughed, then took her hand, leading her toward the menacing wheel.

The two were strapped into a flimsy, swinging seat, and then had to wait for a few minutes. Just when Hermione opened her mouth to ask if something was supposed to be happening, the whole thing jolted forward (or backward, depending on where you were sitting) and they were plunged toward the night sky. Hermione let out a "Meep!" of surprise, and without thinking about her actions, threw her arms around Harry's neck.

Harry swallowed hard as Hermione clung to him. His heart was pounding and he was having trouble breathing normally. But allowed her to keep her arms around him, and patted her hand comfortingly—he hoped it was comforting. Glancing at her face, he was amused, though not surprised, to find that her eyes were firmly shut.

"Open your eyes, Hermione," he instructed in an unexpectedly calm voice. "It's more enjoyable that way."

"I'll open my eyes when we're back on solid ground!"

He laughed, and tried to turn towards her a bit, but her vice-like grip was preventing him from doing so. Gently, he loosened her hold on him, taking her hands in his and leaning a bit toward her. "Look at me."

Hermione sighed and opened her eyes, focusing on Harry. She gave a little gasp as she discovered he was just a few inches away from her. Close enough that she could feel his breath on her chin. Close enough that she could see little flecks of gold in his dazzling green eyes. Close enough to see every laugh line on his face.

Close enough to kiss.

_What?_

"Hermione," he murmured, and she found herself getting dizzy. Had he always said her name like that? It sounded beautiful—musical, even—when he said it. She could not speak, so she just waited. "How long have we been friends?"

_Crap, a question._ She'd have to answer it. Hermione cleared her throat and replied in a shaky voice, "Almost ten years."

"And in those ten years, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"

She sighed. "No."

"So then can you trust me now when I say that you're going to _love_ this?"

Biting her lip, she lowered her gaze to his hands, which were folded over her own. "I suppose so."

"Good." Harry couldn't help but feel pride at his own tactics. "Now look up."

Hermione inhaled deeply, clenched her jaw, and turned her head forward before she lifted her eyes. What she saw was . . . breathtaking, to say the absolute _least_. From their current spot atop the Ferris wheel, she could see clear to downtown London, and a little past. The lights of the city sparkled in the now-fading light, its beauty enhanced by the orange-ish hue of the setting sun. She glanced down, and could see the all the other carnival goers, bustling about, hoping to see and try a little bit of everything. It was magnificent.

"Was I right?" Harry asked, a trace of smugness in his voice.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," he laughed.

Hermione repeated her earlier action, but smiled. Then, as her eyes landed on him, she was again taken by how incredibly _perfect_ he was. His head was turned the other way, but from the side, she could still see it all. There was, of course, that lightning scar on his forehead, which had been nothing more than a mark since the death of Voldemort. But also, there was a small line starting just below his lower lip, and extending about half an inch down and to the left. She wasn't sure when he'd gotten that one; there were too many possible instances to count. But rather than taking away from his beauty, it enhanced it. Harry had fought valiantly for seven years to defeat the beast of a man who had killed his parents, as well as to protect those he loved. To protect the only family he'd ever known. The only _home_ he'd ever known.

As if he knew he was being watched, he glanced at her, not moving his head. "Is there something on my face?" he asked.

Heat rose in her cheeks, but she didn't look away. Nor did she avoid his question; she simply answered, "No, I was just looking at your scars."

One dark eyebrow rose. "Is that so?"

She smiled, nodding. "They show what an incredible man you are."

The other eyebrow arched, and he turned his head to face her. "I think the cotton candy's gone to your brain."

"I'm serious, Harry," she insisted.

"I believe you," he said, "but that's an exceptionally random topic of conversation."

Hermione looked away, her blush deepening. "I suppose I just . . . well, it reminds me of everything you've done. Not only for me, but for everyone in the world. You got rid of the darkest wizard in history, and you did it alone."

"I'll stop you there," he interrupted, shifting in his seat so that he was facing her. "I didn't do _anything_ by myself. I had help in every instance. For the first few years of my life, I had Dumbledore giving me advice and hints. In the Tri-Wizard tournament, Moody was there. Granted, he ended up really being a Death Eater hell-bent on destroying me, but still, he was the reason I didn't get killed in the first task. And through _everything_, I've had you and Ron helping me." Her eyes darkened. "Well, you were there through everything. Ron had his reasons for leaving, I know."

"Can we not talk about Ron?" she asked.

Harry kicked himself internally. "I'm sorry. My point is, I was never alone. I felt like it, but I never really was. And I . . . I don't think I ever really thanked you."

She frowned. "For what?"

His face was serious again. "For being there. For helping me, even through the darkest of times. For being . . . well, for being my pillar of strength and hope, when all I wanted to do was give up." He took her hand again. "Without you, I wouldn't be here. So thank you."

Hermione's eyes glistened with tears as she gave him a sad smile. "I didn't realize I did so much."

"You did everything," he said so quietly, she barely heard him.

It occurred to Hermione then that they were much too close. Almost as close as they had been before, when they first got on this infernal ride. What was it about Ferris wheels? In every Muggle movie she'd seen that involved a Ferris wheel, there was a kiss, or an expression of feelings, _on_ that wheel.

Logic told her to move away, but of course, she couldn't. Instead, she could feel herself leaning toward him. He started to do the same, and sirens went off in her head. They would regret this later. This could only end in tears!

Or could it?

Maybe . . . maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She should at least try it . . .

"Hermione?"

She almost sighed; they were so _close_! "Mmm?"

"What happened to us?"

Frowning, she leaned back, nearly crying from disappointment. "What do you mean?" she asked, though she had a feeling she knew _exactly_ what he meant.

"We used to see each other," he explained. "We used to _talk_. We had that weekly lunch thing going on, and it wasn't much, but it was _something_, at least."

Hermione looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. Before things had gotten . . . complicated, she and Harry decided that, in order to keep in touch, they would meet every Friday at the Three Broomsticks for lunch. At the time, things were okay with Ron, but even after the war, he was still paranoid about her leaving—specifically, about her leaving him for _Harry_. So she hadn't told him about the lunches, thinking that she'd tell him after he'd had time to calm down, and realize that she really did love him. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect. As time went on, he became even _more_ paranoid, until finally, he found out the truth by asking Ginny.

To say he was furious would be an understatement. He demanded that she stop the lunches, and threatened to break up with her if she didn't. To her everlasting shame, Hermione agreed. She should have known back then that this was a sign of a _very_ unhealthy relationship, but she was far too in love with Ron to think twice about it.

And then he cheated on her.

"Hermione?" Harry brought her out of her thoughts. "Please tell me."

She opened her mouth to do just that, but then, the ride jolted to a stop, and the carnival worker came up to help them out of their seat. Hermione smiled at the pudgy young man, and then she and Harry left the carnival. It was sad to go, but it was getting late, after all.

As they exited the carnival, Harry repeated his question.

"It's a long story," she sighed.

"I've got all night," he said simply.

Hermione paused, not wanting to discuss this in front of people. She spotted a park nearby; it looked fairly empty. She gestured toward it, and said, "Let's take a walk."

* * *

_A/N: Yes, I really did go there. ;) You might think I'm just trying to fit in every single cliché and overly-romantic scene I can. Well . . . you're not entirely wrong. I just happen to like cliché and overly-romantic scenes! And I know I'm not the only one, so if you _don't_ like them, then you don't have to read it. So there. Okay, that was kinda mean, I'm sorry. Don't hurt me! (whimpers) Anyways, please review! I can't stress that enough! I want to hear what you think!_


	6. Confessions

_Disclaimer: I know it, you know it, JK Rowling knows it, so let's just get on with the story, shall we?_

* * *

Hermione let out a sigh, gestured to a bench they were about to pass, and then sat down. Harry took the seat beside her, never taking her eyes off her. Taking a deep breath, she began her narrative. She told him everything, starting with Ron's anxiety, and ending with his request. Well, command actually.

When she finished, Harry was staring into space, his expression blank. "Wow," he mumbled. "That's . . . wow."

"I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I know I should have at least told you."

"Damn right, you should have," he snapped, then he turned to look at her. "I spent days—weeks, actually—trying to figure out why you wouldn't take my calls. Why every time I went to your flat, I couldn't get you to answer the door. Why all of a sudden, I got a letter from you, telling me 'Sorry, but we can't meet for lunch anymore. I'm just too busy.'" She cringed, having forgotten about that. "You and I both knew that was a lie."

Tears were now streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry, Harry."

"You're _sorry_?" He paused, taking a deep breath to steady himself. "Hermione, I was so afraid that I'd done something wrong, something to offend you. I beat myself up over it for weeks."

That caught Hermione's attention. "Why on earth would you blame yourself?"

"Because it didn't seem like you to just break off a friendship, after nine and a half years, just _because_."

She lowered her head. "I _wasn't_ me, not at the time."

"That's an understatement."

Sniffling she looked up at him again. "You have every right to be angry with me. I'm angry with myself for it. If I could do it over again, I would have told Ron off then and there. But I was so . . . hopelessly enamored, that I was willing to overlook all of his flaws, no matter how blatant." She scoffed. "And look where _that_ got me."

He frowned. "What do you mean?" he asked, confused. "I thought _you_ broke it off with _him_, not the other way around."

Biting her lip, Hermione prepared herself for Harry's reaction. Considering what she was about to tell him, it wouldn't be good. "Ron cheated on me, Harry."

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it certainly wasn't _that_. His blood ran cold, then hot, at those words. His own best friend had cheated on his fiancé, who was also his best friend! It was preposterous! How in the name of Merlin did Ron think he would find someone _better_ than Hermione? The woman was practically a walking angel! It didn't make any sense!

"With who?" he asked, though he wasn't entirely sure he _wanted_ to know.

Hermione swallowed. "Lavender Brown."

Just like that, something snapped inside of him. He leapt up from his seat and began power-walking in the direction of Ron's flat. He knew it wasn't far; he'd been there so many times he'd lost count, and he often walked there, so he knew the way by heart. It would only take a few minutes, then he could beat the redhead senseless.

"Harry, _stop_!" Something caught him by the arm, and he whirled around to face Hermione. "He's not worth it. Besides, he's probably not even there. He usually has drinks with the team around now."

"He's going to _die_," Harry snarled through his teeth.

"Harry, calm down."

"Calm down?" he repeated, his voice raising. "No, I'm not going to calm bloody down! That little _shit_ cheated on my best friend—_his_ best friend—and for that, he must pay! I'm thinking hedge-clippers, or maybe a rusty saw—"

"Harry, just shut the hell up!"

He stared at her. He couldn't think of a single time he'd heard Hermione curse in the ten years he'd known her. She was usually the one scolding him and Ron—especially Ron—for using such language. He momentarily forgot about killing his ex-friend.

"Listen to me," she said, her voice more level now. "First of all, this really isn't worth getting all worked up over. Beating Ron to a pulp won't change the fact that he did it, or the fact that he doesn't feel any shame about it. Second of all, do you really think I didn't do some hexing of my own?"

His cheek twitched as he was torn between murderous rage and amusement at the thought of Ron getting his head handed to him by Hermione.

"So don't worry about it. Just let it be."

"But it's wrong," he persisted. "He should treat you better than that. I mean, how on earth could he find it in himself to _cheat_ on _you_? Why, if it were me, I'd . . ."

Harry stopped, his eyes widening as he realized what he'd just said. Not only was comparing himself to Ron inappropriate and pathetic, it threatened the friendship he'd worked so hard to maintain. These feelings he'd been having for Hermione were by no means new. He'd always thought her beautiful, and had occasionally thought he fancied her. But now, for some reason, it was magnified. And the way she was staring up at him with those big, brown eyes of hers wasn't exactly helping matters.

"What did you say?" she whispered.

"Nothing," he muttered.

"You said, 'If it were me . . .,' and then you didn't finish the sentence."

He groaned. "If you knew, why'd you ask?"

"Finish the sentence, Harry."

Harry's brow furrowed. "But . . . why . . . what do you—"

"Finish it," she repeated. "If it were you . . ."

Sighing, Harry gave in; there was nothing for it now. Inhaling slowly, he looked her straight in the eye, and did as she asked. "If it were me, I would have cherished every moment with you. I would never have even considered _looking_ at another woman, much less having an affair with her. I would have told you every single day how much I loved you, and paired that with some kind of act of service, something to _prove_ my love. Whether you felt you needed the proof or not."

Hermione's heart beat wildly at this new information. There was no question in her mind now that Harry's feelings for her were not entirely platonic. This revelation had also made her realize that she, too, harbored romantic feelings for him. And she had to wonder . . . were they new feelings, or had they been there all along, but she'd just ignored him?

She already knew the answer to that question.

For years, she'd suppressed her crush on him, mainly because she didn't believe that the Boy Who Lived could ever see her as anything but the bushy-haired bookworm that did all his homework. But things began to change in fourth year. Other boys started showing interest in her, namely Ron and Viktor Krum.

After four years of pining, she'd decided that it was healthier to go for someone who already had interest in her. In time, she was able to convince herself she fancied her red-haired friend, but by then, he was shoving his tongue down the throat of the girl he'd just had an affair with. And then, he accused her of "choosing Harry," and left the two of them alone in the tent.

Through it all, Harry was still her friend. He cared for her, protected her, and did his best to keep her happy. And somehow, it always worked. He could _always_ make her feel better when she was sad or angry. Harry was always the one she turned to.

And somewhere along the way, through all the tears, the pain, the wars, and the confusion, she'd fallen in love with him.

Harry bit his lip, looking a bit crestfallen, and started to turn away. Hermione caught him before he could, gently placing a hand on his cheek. He slowly lifted his eyes, which were slightly narrowed in confusion, until they met hers. When they did, she used her free hand to brush a stray ebony lock off his forehead, then let it rest on his other cheek.

"Hermione, what—"

"Shh," she silenced him, slowly bringing his head toward hers. Just before their lips met, Hermione paused. For a millisecond, she wondered if she really should be doing this. Was it wise, kissing your best friend after you'd dated and nearly married your _other_ best friend? But as she gazed into his eyes, wide and hopeful, she realized just how much she wanted this. _Needed_ it, like she needed air to breathe.

So she kissed him.

Harry's mind reeled as Hermione's lips came in contact with his. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, and his heart raced. Though the kiss was completely chaste, it had an effect on him that no other kiss had—not even with Ginny. That "chest monster" he had always assumed was love wasn't there; instead, he felt a warm glow, which spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

Suddenly, the kiss wasn't enough. He tilted his head to the right, placing his hand on the side of her neck, deepening the kiss. Her hands moved from his face, allowing her arms to twine around his neck, and she leaned in closer, pressing herself against him. An alarm sounded in his mind then, and he gently pulled out of the kiss.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

He cleared his throat. "I, er . . . I just wanted to make one thing clear before things get, erm . . . out of hand." Harry paused. "I want to wait."

"Wait?" she repeated, frowning.

"Yes. I want to wait before we . . . you know." He shuffled uncomfortably. "I don't want to have sex with anyone until I know they're right for me. And knowing me, I probably won't be sure of that till I'm _married_, so . . . what?"

She was smiling at him. "You're cute when you're nervous."

At that, his cheeks flushed scarlet. "I'm not nervous," he mumbled.

Laughing, she pecked him on the lips. "I feel the same way, Harry," she said. "So why don't we take this slowly?"

Sighing with relief, Harry took her hand, their fingers entwining. "Sounds great."

* * *

_A/N: So, I know it probably sounds like it after this chapter, but let me be clear: THIS IS NOT A REBOUND FIC! I'm pretty sure I've said that before, but just in case you forgot, it's not. Hence all the stuff about both of them having feelings before that they suppressed and ignored. Anyways, ramblings aside, what did you think? Please tell me! And no, this is definitely _not_ the end! More chapters forthcoming!_


	7. Closure

A/N: OHMYGOSH! I am SO sorry it has taken five thousand years for me to update this story! Okay, so it hasn't really been that long, but it's been a LONG time! And I am SORRY! But the wait is over! This is probably going to be the last chapter, since I really don't know what else to add to it, and I just need to stop leaving my stories wide open and unfinished. It's annoying, for you, I'm sure, and also for me. Gah! So anyways, here's the far too late ending of this story!

* * *

Harry's and Hermione's relationship blossomed over the month. Though they each kept their promise to wait until marriage, they continued to live together in Harry's house, with Hermione in the spare bedroom. The love they shared was beyond anything they'd imagined, and Hermione found herself glowing with more and more happiness every day.

At the end of the first month, though, Hermione was starting to miss a few of her possessions (namely her books). So she called Ron—which went surprisingly well—and arranged a time for her to visit him, and collect her things. Harry was nervous about the whole affair, and voiced his concerns as Hermione got ready to leave.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with?"

"And risk you tearing Ron's arms off?" she joked. "No, you'd better not."

He sighed. "I just... don't like the idea of you going there alone. What if he goes mental, and does something to you?"

Having finished with her makeup, Hermione stood, facing Harry. She gave him a reassuring smile and kissed the corner of his lips. "Everything will be fine. When have you ever known Ron to get needlessly violent, especially toward women?"

Harry shrugged. "When have I known him to cheat on his fiancé?"

She grimaced. "Good point. But I don't think he's changed _that _much. Besides, he sounded fine on the phone."

"But that's on the phone," Harry insisted. "Who knows what he has set up for you when you actually get there? I really think I should come with you, Mione."

"Harry, I will be _fine_," she said firmly. "I promise, nothing's going to happen. And if he does try something, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself. I've got my wand, I've got a can of mace, and I can phone you if necessary." She placed a hand on his cheek. "Really, you don't need to worry."

Knowing he'd already lost the battle, Harry gave another sigh, and gave her a quick kiss before sending her off.

Hermione chose to drive, giving herself plenty of time to clear her head and prepare what she was going to say. At length, she pulled up in front of the modest apartment building, looking up at the third floor with mild trepidation. It took a few moments of deep breathing and a mental pep talk before she finally managed to take a step, and another, and then another, until at last, she was inside the building.

She knocked softly on her—no, _Ron's_—door, unsure of what she might see on the other side. Would he have trashed the place? Was he even still living here? Had he set her up? Should she have let Harry come with her after all? What was he going to say to her? And what if—

Her thoughts were cut off as the door swung open, revealing a thoroughly normal-looking Ron, standing in between her and a normal-looking apartment.

"Hi," she breathed.

"Hi," he said quietly, then stepped away from the door. "Everything's all boxed up and ready to go."

Hermione frowned in confusion, but said nothing. She promptly shrank the boxes to fit in her purse, then stashed them away. Almost subconsciously, she took a quick glance around, to make sure everything was accounted for.

"I'm not trying to cheat you out of getting your stuff back, Hermione," he said dryly. "It's all there, and it's all yours."

She lifted an eyebrow. "Well, you can't blame me for not trusting you."

Ron sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "No, I can't." He was quiet for a moment, then he dropped his hand, looking her in the eye. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I was wrong to cheat on you."

"You finally admit it?" she snapped, her voice acerbic.

"I was mad when you found out," he went on. "Mad that you'd caught me, mad that you were so mad... mad at myself, for even thinking of it in the first place." His eyes grew sorrowful. "I treated you like dirt. I'm not surprised you left me. _I_ would have left me! But what does surprise me is that you stayed with me as long as you did."

Hermione met his gaze. "I loved you, Ron. I was willing to fight for it. You weren't."

He nodded, looking down at his feet. "Yeah, well... if it makes you feel any better, as soon as Lav found out I'd been cheating on you, she said she wanted nothing to do with me."

"That makes me have a higher respect for her," she said, "but it doesn't necessarily make me feel _better_." It was Hermione's turn to sigh. "I just don't understand what was so bad about me that you had to jump into another woman's pants."

Ron cringed at her choice of words, but answered, "It wasn't you. I was just... randy, for lack of a better word. And I very conveniently 'forgot' to inform Lav that I was with you, and when she started flirting and asking for my attention... I wasn't strong enough to refuse." He looked at Hermione again. "I know I don't deserve a second chance, but if you're willing to give one, I'll take it."

Despite herself, Hermione couldn't help but feel it, that inexplicable pull toward him, as though they were magnetized. It would be so easy to give in, to allow him that second chance, and if he'd asked her a month ago, she might have said yes. But he hadn't, and she was not the same woman she'd been. She was stronger now. And she was with Harry completely. Sure, she still had some feelings for Ron, but her love for Harry was growing more and more, and she wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him. She knew her answer, then.

"In time," she said, "I'm sure I'll be more than willing to give our friendship another chance. But our _relationship_ is over."

Ron's face fell, but he nodded. "Right," he mumbled. "I s'pose I deserve that."

"Just a little," she felt herself smirk. He attempted a smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Out of pity, and residual love for him—that would never fully go away, she was sure of it—she leaned forward and gently kissed his cheek. His eyes found hers as she pulled away, full of questions.

"This isn't goodbye," she assured him. "It's just... farewell."

He frowned. "There's a difference?"

Hermione laughed, but didn't answer him. She just lifted her hand in a little wave, and left him alone. On her way out, she set her key in the little dish on the table by the door, where she'd always put them. The sound it made echoed in the flat, and a tiny, invisible knife seemed to poke her heart, but at the same time, she felt _free_.

And with that, she turned the lock, and closed the door behind her.

* * *

Harry sat on the couch in his living room, slouched over, resting his forearms on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. His breathing was quick and a bit ragged, and once in a while, a muscle in his face would twitch with nervousness, but other than that, he was completely still.

As soon as the front door opened, however, he shot up from his seat and ran over to the woman that had just entered. "How'd it go?" he asked.

"Oh!" Hermione jumped slightly, placing a hand over her heart. "Goodness, Harry, you startled me!"

"How did it go?" he repeated.

She smiled. "Fine."

"Really?"

She hung up her purse by the door, then reached into it to produce four miniature cardboard boxes. "All my stuff," she said, moving further into the living room. "He had it all boxed up and ready for me."

"Really?" he said again.

"And we had a nice chat—yes, a _nice_ one," she emphasized at the look on his face, sitting on the couch, "and eventually, things will be good."

"_Really?_"

"For Merlin's sake, Harry, time to pick a new word!"

"Sorry," he muttered. "I just... so it really went fine?"

"Yes," she laughed. "Everything went _fine_."

Harry heaved an audible sigh of relief. "Good!" he exclaimed, then plopped back onto the couch beside her, this time in a much more relaxed position. "I was worried."

"Hadn't guessed that," she teased him.

"Did he apologize? Offer some sort of half-assed excuse?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Watch your language, mister," she scolded him, and he lifted his hands in a gesture of defeat, though she thought could see the beginnings of a smirk. "He did apologize, quite profusely, and he did give an excuse of sorts. I haven't forgiven him, but I do believe him."

"Makes sense, I guess," Harry said, but the frown on his face made it evident that it didn't make sense to him at all. "So... everything's good then?"

"Almost," she amended. "It'll still take me a while to fully forgive him, but... I'll get there eventually."

He smiled. "You're an amazing woman, Hermione Granger. You know that, right?"

"I always suspected it," she winked, then leaned forward to kiss him.

They didn't talk about Ron for the rest of the day, as they unpacked her many books and a few other random items. After they were done, Harry treated Hermione to a nice dinner, then they watched a movie together. By the time it was over, Harry had fallen asleep, his arm draped loosely over Hermione's shoulders. Hermione turned the TV off with her wand (the remote was too far away), and snuggled closer to him, breathing in his scent. Before long, she, too, drifted into a peaceful slumber.

* * *

A/N: There you go. Closure, and a happy ending. Hope you liked it! Review!


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